To Free a Spy (6 page)

Gallardi turned the dead bolt lock in the door and the two shook hands. “Ever get tired of the shadows?”

“Rest of ’em stayed down in the lobby. Guess they trust you.”

“I’m touched. Drink?” he said, gesturing toward the mini-bar.

“Glenfiddich, neat. What’s on your mind, Frank?”

Gallardi set his drink on the bar. “Some builder in Atlantic City dug up items the cops believe is from Karly’s apartment.”

The man took a moment to let it sink in. “Tell me about it.”

“This construction crew digs up something suspicious and calls the police. They come out and take a look, bring in the medical examiner, the crime scene stuff, yellow tape and all that. There was crusted blood on a rug that was rolled up. Drink glasses and other shit inside it, including a writing pen that’s got the Golden Touch logo on it. The cops had Karly’s DNA in their database. I’m sure you’ve already figured out that it matches some of the blood on the rug. They also found blood that belonged to Matty Figueriano and a gold bracelet with his name engraved on it. They figure it came off while he was burying the stuff and he didn’t notice it until afterward, when it was too risky for him to go back and dig it up. And there’s a third blood sample. No match in the database.”

The visitor stood in thought for several seconds. “You didn’t mention a body.”

“Not there, but there was a body, right? Are you positive?”

The visitor was clearly uncomfortable with this question. After a minute he said, “Yes, there’s a body, Frank!” And then, “Who else knows about any of this?”

“Figueriano. Matty Figueriano.”

“And he’s the guy you had take care of this?”

“Yes.”

“
You used that gutter mop?
I expected a clean job.”

Gallardi reacted angrily. “Yeah, I had a lot of time to screen applications that night!”

The visitor thought for a few seconds, and slowly shook his head. “They’ve got nothing that points to me as her killer, Frank!”

“Don’t be too sure. There’s still someone else’s blood on the rug. It’s pretty easy for me to figure out who that blood belongs to.”

Jag looked down at the floor for a moment. “They won’t find me in the criminal database, Frank!” After a pause, he said, “Anyone else know anything about this?”

Gallardi took a deep breath. He’d always wondered whether his worthless nephew, Lenny Magliacci, overheard his phone calls on the evening of Karly’s murder. Lenny was nearby in his office that night when Frank had called Matty to clean up the mess but had never given Gallardi any indication that he overheard his call. Besides, the listless bastard was too lazy to cause trouble. He practiced law for awhile but couldn’t make it and got into some trouble. No sense mentioning him, Gallardi decided.

“No,” Frank replied.

“What about Matty Figueriano?”

O’Malley had kept Gallardi up to date on the investigation, which was moving fast. “Here’s what I know so far,” Gallardi said. Matty Figueriano had become high-profile in recent years, squabbling with Atlantic City mob boss Joey Domino over drugs and for bringing a lot of attention down on him. Joey Domino, who turned thumbs down on the drug business after his own son died from a cocaine overdose, found out Matty was running a drug op on the quiet. Joey Domino had no use for Matty Fig anyway because he was with Joey’s son when his son O.D.’d and died, and wanted to kill him as soon as he found out. The feds and local cops were watching too closely and Joey decided to wait, but now this discovery of Matty Fig’s DNA and gold bracelet in a burial pit with a dead woman’s belongings was the last straw for Joey. Joey knew the feds would try to connect him to the girl’s murder because of his known association with Matty Figueriano. With this new evidence, they were likely to trace it to Karly. So Joey Domino sent Matty a message to take the rap all by himself—not for that suspected murder alone, but also for two others they’d been trying to pin on
Joey
. Matty denied everything but Joey’s messengers told Matty that life without parole, even the death sentence, would be better than the consequences of not bailing Joey out, and Matty Fig had no reason to doubt that was true. “That’s all I know,” Gallardi said.

Jag had stood at the window overlooking the city as Gallardi talked. “They find anything besides the gold bracelet?”

“That’s about it, but it all points to my place.”

“She
lived
at your hotel. So what?”

“Loose ends. I don’t like it.”

The man shook his head. “Where do you get all this information, Frank?”

“Never mind where I get it. I get it.”

They stared at each other for a moment. Finally the visitor said, “Worried aren’t you, Frank?”

“I don’t worry but it’s a problem to deal with,” Gallardi said. “If Figueriano confesses to Karly’s disappearance and those two murders as well, he can get himself off the hook with Joey Domino.”

“And go to prison for life? You don’t have to worry about that. He’ll take his chances with Domino. Tough guys think they’re invincible.”

Gallardi looked at the man in disbelief. “You know damn well it won’t turn out like that. Figueriano’s afraid of Joey. He’ll confess to those three hits and get off the hook with Joey Domino. Then he’ll plea-bargain with the feds to stay out of jail.”

“
Plea bargain!
With what?”

“You’re looking at him!”
Gallardi said, jabbing his thumb into his own chest. “That D.A. in Atlantic City’s trying to make a name for himself. Hates gambling. Blames everything that happens on the casinos. You think he wouldn’t give his left nut to see me hanging from that flagpole on top of the Golden Touch? He’d trade Matty Figueriano for me in a heartbeat.”

The Washington man nodded and turned back to the window. A minute later he said, “Thought about how you’d defend yourself, Frank?”

Gallardi went over to the man, who was several inches taller than he, and spun him around. The blood vessels in Gallardi’s neck bulged as he spoke. “Listen to me! I saved your ass that night! Put my own reputation on the line! You keep me out of this like you said you’d do, and I don’t care how you do it. But you better hope nobody comes to me about this.”

“How do you expect me to deal with it now, Frank? I’m too visible and you know it.”

“That’s
your
problem. My name comes up in this, the chips fall where they fall. I warned you six years ago. You remember that, don’t you?” Gallardi was an inch from Jag’s nose now, his prominent chest bumping the visitor’s.

Jag studied Frank for a moment and then put his hands on the casino man’s shoulders and forced a smile. “Frank, you’re tough as ever. I like that.”

Gallardi pushed him away, in no mood to be mollified. “You’ll do well to remember that!”

The man nodded. “Forget it, Frank. Don’t worry. You knew I’d take care of it.”

* * *

Jag scrolled down his list of contacts and selected a number as his driver navigated the SUV through D.C. traffic.

The line answered after one ring. “What’re you doin’ out so late?”

“Little problem has come up. Meet in 30 minutes.”

Ana Koronis thought it
must be the fiftieth time she rolled into a new sleeping position that night, and it had been like that for the last month. Today was Sunday and she had planned to sleep in, but the combination of sleeplessness and the impending end of her relationship with Austin Quinn seemed to pull her down more each day. Her productivity at the law firm was lagging and one of her partners had brought it up at lunch on Friday. “Not yourself these days, Ana.” He had ignored her denial. “Why don’t you take some time off and get it together?”

It was more than a casual comment: Her personal life was impacting the law firm. The partner’s admonition had edged her over the threshold and now she was waiting for the right time to talk to Quinn. Couldn’t just let him come home to his place in Georgetown one day and find she had moved back across the river to her own townhouse in Alexandria, even though he too had to know it was over. He wasn’t blind.

She was dozing again when Quinn’s official line rang. The glowing red numbers on the digital clock said it was ten past five. Had to be Langley, as she was sure no one except his lieutenants at CIA had this number. Quinn fumbled for the speakerphone button in the darkness.

“Yeah?”

“Director Quinn?”

“Yes.”

“Hold for Mr. Lloyd Tracey.”

The White House!
Tracey was President Garrison Cross’s chief of staff and Ana was curious. Her handling of legal matters for the State Department often gave her the kinds of official details she was interested in, but since moving in with Quinn, the amount of knowledge she had accumulated tripled. It had taken Quinn a long time to begin confiding in her about operational goings on at the CIA, but then, as if his trust in her suddenly bloomed, he opened up. Ana knew Quinn enjoyed dealing out intriguing details of some ongoing clandestine operation like cards in a poker hand, causing her to sweat them one at a time. Ana would remember every nuance until she could get back to her office the next morning and dictate it all into a flash drive. She stored the drive in a small floor safe under her desk, to which only she had the combination. But Quinn had not been saying much in recent weeks, and it was clear she had gotten about all the spy scoop she was going to get from him. She had liked Quinn for himself at one time. His CIA stories were a bonus. But she was glad the relationship outlasted them.

“Hold on,” Quinn said to the speakerphone. He left the bedroom and walked to his study down the hall. When he picked up the call there, Ana continued to hear both men’s voices on the speakerphone. The CIA director had neglected to put the line on Hold.

“You there, Lloyd?” she heard him say.

“Sorry, Austin. It’s about Frank Gallardi.”

“Gallardi!”

“Shot dead couple hours ago. Got his security man, too. Professional hit according to the police. That’s all I’ve got right now.”

Quinn was silent for a moment. “Why are you calling me?”

“President wanted me to notify you and Stern. Oh, and General Scrubb at the Pentagon. Mostly as a matter of courtesy, I think.” Ana knew Stern was the president’s national security advisor.

“How’d you get it?”

“The Bureau.”

Ana had met Gallardi a few years earlier at the celebration and roast for Quinn at Gallardi’s casino in Atlantic City, and knew he had lofty connections in the government, but his murder was not of more than general interest to her. When Quinn hung up, Ana got out of bed, took a hot shower and got dressed. She heard the phone ring again while she was showering, but she’d turned off the speaker. She put on a robe and sauntered down to the study where Quinn was scanning the morning reports on the Langley computer terminal he’d ordered installed in his home.

“I heard Tracey’s call, Austin. You left the speaker on. What do you make of Gallardi?”

Quinn glanced at her peripherally. “Doubt if it’s anything as sinister as Tracey implied.”

“You knew him well?”

“We worked on the New Jersey casino bill together years ago. Pretty much a business relationship.”

Ana was leaning nonchalantly against the door, arms folded and ankles crossed. “Gallardi involved in the mafia?”

Quinn still hadn’t looked up from the monitor. He grunted and shook his head. “Stayed out of it.”

“Anything for you to do?”

Quinn shrugged. “Met his wife couple of times. She’ll expect me to do something.”

Ana knew there was little Quinn could do. The CIA had no investigative powers inside the U.S. That was the FBI’s bailiwick. Quinn would promise Mrs. Gallardi he would make some phone calls to encourage the FBI and state authorities to take special interest, but given Gallardi’s high profile in gambling, that would happen without Quinn’s input. And Quinn wasn’t one to demand a Congressional investigation every time a squirrel scampered across a street somewhere in Washington.

* * *

The next morning, Monday, Ana Koronis was in her office at the law firm at eight-thirty with
The Washington Post
. The paper said there were no suspects, no murder weapon and no clues in the Gallardi case. The story credited the wealthy casino owner, working with then state-senator Austin Quinn, for the state laws and regulations that enabled casino gambling in New Jersey. Gallardi had been rewarded with the first casino license, and Quinn with election to the U.S. Senate. This set him up for his subsequent appointment by President Cross to his present post as Director of Central Intelligence.

The paper referred to Gallardi’s high-profile clientele as the envy of the other Boardwalk casinos.

The article said police also were investigating the murder of known underworld figure Matthew Figueriano, killed on the same night as Gallardi. Police didn’t think the murders were related since Gallardi was not believed to have been involved with the mob. Power struggles between mob boss Joey Domino and Figueriano were legendary.

Ana leaned back in the chair and looked up at the ceiling. Her talk with Quinn about ending their relationship would have to wait a while longer.

* * *

It was a quarter past seven Monday morning when President Cross got Austin Quinn on the phone.

“Too bad about Gallardi.”

Quinn was sitting in the middle rear seat of his black SUV. “For sure.”

“Where are you?”

“Heading to Langley.”

“Looks like a hit, but I just talked to Fullwood at the Bureau. He says Frank wasn’t involved with the mafia.”

“Could be anybody. You know, big loser at the tables. Somebody Gallardi fired,” Quinn said.

“They’ll look at that.”

“Right.”

“Listen, Austin, hate to ask this but someone needs to represent me at Gallardi’s service. He did a lot for me, others in the party. You being from Jersey—”

Quinn interrupted. “Be glad to, Garrison.”

* * *

The CIA’s Security Protective Service met Quinn at the Atlantic City airport with three cars and a dozen security officers for the trip to the chapel. Even though going to a memorial service in Quinn’s home state didn’t seem to be particularly risky, Quinn didn’t mind the highly visible security. He was a career politician and to be seen surrounded by men whose job it was to protect his life with theirs did nothing to detract from an image of power. Especially in his home state, thought Washington newspaper reporter Tommy Phelps, usually soft on Quinn in his articles, who was ushered into Quinn’s vehicle for the ride to the memorial.